Stolen Year_Might As Well Have Been Wind In the Bells_SALT._The Pond
Catalog Guide:
Stolen Year
I slowly opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling. My head was throbbing and I had a ringing in my ears. The lighting was so dim that it took my eyes several minutes to acclimate to the gloom. I slowly sat up and winched in agony. I clutched my hand to my side and let out a small whimper, the pain was so intense that I couldn’t even manage a scream. I gingerly lifted up my shirt and saw that I had a bandage haphazardly wrapped around my lower abdomen. The part of my side that I had touched had faint traces of red soaking through. I lowered my shirt and looked around at my surroundings but t...
Might As Well Have Been Wind In the Bells
My vulpine ears twitch as I blink awake, eyes flitting around my small room, furnished only with my www.onedoor.ccsleeping mat a mirror and a small dresser.The bells, the bells were ringing.I leap off my mat and land nimbly on my feet, someone’s in the house.Glancing at the simple mirror on the wall I meet my own starlight-blue eyes and handsome face, or at least that’s how I’ve heard people describe it. All of my race is stunning by others’ standards. Muttering something under my breath, I watch as my reflection fades away, starting with the gold tips of my white ears.Now invisible, I creep out of my small...
SALT.
Salt.You could taste it if you lick the air. It hits your tongue and brings you back to your senses. The walls of this room are colored in white. So white that a fly sitting on them creeps me out. I am locked in here for a long time now. Long enough for far more days than I care to count. My beard falls on my chest, and the hairs on my head have disappeared from pulling. I am often naked, for I know not a soul would dare to enter this room. No furniture, just a chair, a table, and a cot to lie on. Who wants anything more, at least not me.My only connection to the outside world is this window. ...
The Pond
He had been gone for hours, but he would return. He always returned.The wind howled outside, an angry beast that would not be quelled. Snowflakes, usually the epitome of grace and beauty, flurried outside the frosted window angrily. The cement floor was a lonely ice rink devoid of skaters. A dim bulb glowed overhead, casting shadows into the corners. My fingers had started turning from blue to black. I had stopped feeling my toes days ago.I looked to the window again, straining my neck as far as I could to peer into the frost-bitten glass. There were no signs of headlights in the darkness. I a...